


True Champions

by Mandibles



Series: In which I try to cope with the Colton Thing [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, HOW DO I ALLISON?, It's almost six in the morning what is my life right now, M/M, Marathon Sex, SPORTS!!1 is totally their OT3 name, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts when Lydia breaks up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Champions

It starts when Lydia breaks up with him. Well, actually, Jackson’s pretty set on the idea that he can trace every shitty part of his life to the day Scott McCall was conceived, but for all intents and purposes, this thing in particularly starts because of the break up. It happens ‘round the time Allison invites him for a swim, and he’s too torn up about everything to make the correlation.

And, it’s nice, the swim. Friendly. They spend most of the hour or so just racing each other, making it from one end of BHHS’s pool to the other after school’s over with the occasional splash fight dispersed in between. There’s challenge when they do this, but not enough to aggravate him, so it’s good. He likes it enough that they do it a few more times in the following months, usually at the school, but sometimes at his house instead. Then, one of their friendly swims ends up in his Jacuzzi and things get a little less friendly, or more so depending on how you look at it.

They tend to stick to his house after that.

It’s not really something they talk about, the sex; it’s just something they do. Even that first time, after swimming until their arms and legs ached and loosening tight, sore muscles in hot, bubbling water, the sex wasn’t a surprise. The tension had been there for a while, crackling between them every time Jackson answered the door to her, and acting on the feeling felt natural, right. The only surprise here was that Allison was the one who broke the tension here, grabbing a handful of hair and kissing him hard, sending him reeling back into the water.

 Jackson learns a lot about Allison that first night: she likes to bite, she likes to be in charge, and she likes to come. So, a lot like Lydia, actually, minus the princess attitude, plus the warrior’s endurance, and that’s more than enough for him.

Then, McCall gets involved.

McCall doesn’t really cross his mind as much as he should, because from what he’s heard, he and Allison are split, too. Or on hiatus, one or the other. Either way, McCall isn’t much of an issue as far as Jackson’s concerned, even with the whole banging his on-and-off girlfriend in his Jacuzzi every Tuesday. It isn’t an issue . . . until it is. This is about when McCall starts to text him, little things like, “Hey, how are you?” and “You were awesome at practice!” or, scarier than everything else, “What are you doing Saturday?”

Jackson stares at the last message in horror, still sopping from another Tuesday Jacuzzi romp, Allison wiping herself dry somewhere behind him.

“What the hell does this mean?” he demands, thrusting his phone at her.

Allison pauses for a split second before continuing to dry her ear, her eyebrow quirked. “I’m just as confused as you are,” she offers. Then she shrugs. “But, who knows? It couldn’t be that bad.”

Jackson stares. “You’re kidding, right?”

She laughs—at him, of course, and it should probably irritate him more than it does. “Come _on_.” He jerks at her playful punch. “The idea of you two getting along can’t be that painful!”

“You’d be surprised,” he mutters, returning to the message as if it had personally offended him.

Wednesday comes and, for some reason, Jackson expects this big thing. He expects, you know, McCall to act differently, to talk to him at his locker or try to sit beside him at lunch like Allison has, but that’s not what happens. McCall acts no differently; hell, he might even be ignoring him more than usual. During lacrosse practice, he does receive a “Nice pass,” in the locker room, like that means anything. So, Wednesday goes, and Thursday takes its place; then, Thursday’s gone, too, and Jackson wakes Friday morning to the whirr of his phone.

_Hey, just wondering if you want to hang out tomorrow?_

Jackson blinks at the screen. Seriously, how dumb is this guy?

 _And do what?_ he texts back.

A second later: _I dunno. Practice?_

Jackson snorts and his mind starts to compose a nice list of biting, asshole-ish rejections, but when his thumbs hit the keyboard, he doesn’t end up using any of them.

_When?_

_Is 2 okay? The park?_

With a wince, Jackson quickly returns, _2 is fine. My house._

_Cool._

That’s it yet, somehow, Jackson feels like he’s just sold his soul.

But, Saturday happens and, actually, the practice isn’t that bad. Like his first swim with Allison, it’s nice and it’s friendly. Scott manages to not piss him the hell off the entire time and he likes the challenge of playing against someone faster, stronger, and more agile than him. Here there is no crowd, no eyes on them, so Jackson can actually enjoy the challenge, because despite what people may think of him, he works hard, trains hard, pushes himself to the brink to be good at what he does.

And, McCall seems to appreciate that. He’s all dopey grins and friendly shoulder claps and Jackson has always had difficulty not accepting compliments. Jackson likes it enough that he lets it happen once in a while, then weekly, every Saturday at two o’ clock. Soon enough, they start working out together, spot each other, sometimes at school, sometimes at Jackson’s house. Inevitably, Scott kisses him over the bench press one day and they stick to the house from then on.

The strange parallels and sick feeling of déjà vu aren’t lost on him. It’s all that circles through his head now that he’s here, gasping for breath in bed with the two of them.

Scott and Allison run sex like it’s some game or a contest—no, wait, a fucking _sport_. The way they see it, sex isn’t sex unless you’re working every fucking muscle group, working until it hurts and you can’t twitch a finger or bat an eyelash after, because you’re just that fucking exhausted. If you don’t wake up with bruises and aches like after a lacrosse match, you clearly haven’t done it right.

Hell, they keep a fucking _come count_ of all things, something recorded in tallies on the dry-erase board over Allison’s bed that poses as an innocent schedule during the day. Seriously, it’s crazy. He’s been here for _five fucking hours_ , the three of them rolling and fooling around on and off, he’s honestly shooting blanks; if he’d known it would be a day-long activity, he would have brought a change of clothes.

“Aw, come on, Jackson!” Scott teases, rocking his—hard? How the fuck is he still hard?—cock against Jackson’s hip, that stupid little grin of his pulling his lips. “We’ve only just started!”

Jackson sputters. “Just started? Are you insane? I came _three times_ already—I’m beyond fucking done.” To reaffirm his stance, he folds his arms and twists onto his side, away from the dumb puppy dog pout he knows is there.

Scott sighs. “In what? Like four hours? We really need to work on your endurance, man.”

“I really need to work on breaking your face,” Jackson hisses back.

That earns a laugh and the bed jumps as Allison returns in all her sweaty, naked glory. She drops another handful of condoms in Jackson’s line of sight and he groans in dismay.

“No. Fuck no. _No_.”

“But, _Jackson_ —” Scott’s whine meets a quick end when Allison swats at him.

“Leave him alone. It’s only his first time with us,” she admonishes with another swat before turning her attention back to Jackson with a sweet smile. “It’s all right, Jackson. Scott’s only made it to five himself—” Scott beams proudly. “—and he’s a werewolf. So, it’s okay if you need to stop.”

That should be the end of it. Jackson should just accept the exit he’s been offered, roll off the bed, and leave the horny bastards to their rabbit fucking. He should get dressed, drive home, curl up in his bed, and pass the fuck out. And, you know what? That’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“I mean, it would be nice for you to reach an even four, but if you really can’t . . .”

Oh, son of a _bitch_.

That’s a challenge. He can’t turn down a challenge, not when McCall’s involved.

And, she _knows_ that.

Jackson drags his hands down his face and groans, “I fucking hate you; that isn’t _fair_.”

Allison blinks innocently and Scott laughs, kissing her neck.

“So, you’ll stay?” Scott presses.

“Yeah, I guess, I—” Jackson makes to shift onto his back, but Scott stops him with a, “No, no, stay like that!” Then, he’s off and away, leaving Allison to move in, shaking her head.

She leans down, close, and Jackson meets her halfway for a kiss. She’s rough as always, tangling her hands into his hair and pulling his head back until his neck creaks, and Jackson’s tongue fights hers valiantly, eager to give as much as he’s given. He loses the battle, though, _moans_ when she wraps a calloused hand around his cock; he trails a hand up her side, cups a breast in return.

Allison breaks the kiss with a gentle, wet sound. A tongue licks the lobe of his ear. “Let’s try to get you up, hm?”

Jackson sucks in his bottom lip, nods, and Allison’s right down between his legs, taking him into her mouth easily. She quickly hollows her mouth as she starts to bob, her fingers creeping towards his sac. He has to bite his fist to keep his hands in check, because of the first rule of getting blown by Allison Argent: if your hands go anywhere near her head, she will break them. No thrusting, either. He’d learned that the hard way the first time around.

Somehow, by some miracle of god, he manages to get hard. That’s about when Scott returns, the bed dipping as he slides up against Jackson’s back, slipping his arm under his head. Allison pulls off at his arrival and greets him with a kiss, shared over Jackson’s shoulder.

“Man, you’re hot like this,” he murmurs against Jackson’s neck, grinding shamelessly into the small of his back. He curls his other arm around Jackson and gently scratches over his treasure trail. “Do you think that we can, you know, try something?”

Jackson scowls. “What sort of something?”

Smirking cheekily, Allison brandishes a bottle in answer and—oh. Shit, he knows where this is going.

And, he’s actually alright with it.

He swallows thickly, eyes trained on Allison’s lamp a ways away.

Scott rubs his shoulder. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to! We can—”

“Okay.”

A pause.

Allison combs her nails through his hair, draws close. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just—” He flops an arm wordlessly and Scott giggles like he understands which, well. Being friends with Stilinski must make him fluent in flails. “Just do it before I change my mind.”

Scott is quick to set Jackson’s hand to pull up his thigh, expose himself with a tight grip, while his own hand ventures further to the curve of Jackson’s erection, stroking loosely. “Can do. You want to do the honors?” he offers to Allison who’s already uncapping the bottle and slicking her fingers. Jackson’s stomach drops when the cap clicks shut.

A filthy, wordless warble leaves his throat at the first cool touch of Allison’s finger along his crack, over the pucker of his entrance. With a fluttering in his gut, Jackson finds himself so hyperaware of that area, every scrape and nudge of her finger, her nail, making his hips jerk and his cock twitch in Scott’s hand. It doesn’t take long for Jackson to get used to the idea, biting his lip and rocking against her hand.

Then, she slips the first finger in, just the tip, and everything stops.

“How does it feel?” Allison asks.

Jackson worries at his lip. “Weird,” he says honestly. “But not bad.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just—keep going.”

Scott rumbles a laugh. With a chuckle that makes Jackson feel stupid, Allison resumes her simple movements and eases her finger further, all the way down to the knuckle, hooks it. Like with sex, her rhythm isn’t gentle or kind, but fierce and strong, long, smooth strokes that make the beginnings of pleasure curl low in Jackson’s stomach. Soon, a second finger pushes beside the first and he groans low, arches in Scott’s embrace as the fingers scissor roughly.

“You’re good, Jackson,” Scott whispers against his neck, pausing from sucking a dark mark into the skin. Somehow he and Allison manage to work in perfect tandem with each other. “You’ve got this. Just a little bit more.”

There’s another finger, a third one, that shoves in sharply, and Jackson spasms in surprise. “Fucking Christ!”

Allison apologizes with a blunt bite to his hip. “You’re doing so well, Jackson. Almost there.”

“Tell us when you’re ready,” Scott breathes across his face.

And Jackson makes an exasperated noise in his throat. “How the fuck should when I’m ready? I’ve never done this before!” he hisses, all tense, curled shoulders, rushing heartbeat, and careless useless panic, because they’re _babying_ him of all things, and he should not like it as much as he does. “Just—fuck—do it now, I guess.”

“Are you—”

“No, dammit! No, I’m not fucking sure!” Jackson drops his thigh and gropes for Allison’s wrist between his legs. He pulls her fingers out, away with a growled, “But, do it anyway. Just fucking fuck me, McCall.”

Scott sucks in a tight breath by his ear, his hips rolling and sliding his cock across the curve of Jackson’s back. Jackson can almost feel the smirks he and Allison exchange before Scott wordlessly reaches for a condom and tears it open with his teeth, Allison curling in front of Jackson and doing the same. Which, for some reason, doesn’t quite compute with Jackson until she rolls the condom onto his cock with a simple, “You too,” her hips wriggling close.

They arrange themselves quickly, impatiently, with Jackson sandwiched between. They struggle with leg placements for a moment, wrapped and tangled and hooked, but they manage to work something out, uncomfortable though it is.

Once they’re settled, there’s a blunt press nudging below Jackson’s sac. And, he flips out a bit.

“Wait, wait! Allison first,” he pleads tightly, dragging her closer and she laughs into the kiss she presses on him. She throws her leg over his hip and Scott positions Jackson’s cock against her folds and Jackson can only watch anxiously as she sinks onto him until her breasts push against his chest. She’s blazing hot inside, a familiar heat he makes to arch into, but Scott’s already clutching his waist and impeding all movement.

The air is tense until Allison sighs, her hand skating down Jackson’s side before dropping to her clit. “Good?” she murmurs and Jackson nods dumbly.

Then, he gasps when Scott bites down on his shoulder, hard. “Jackson, I’m going to . . .” A thumb swipes across his entrance, then, Scott’s cockhead catches on the rim. “Yeah.”

Shutting his eyes and easing into Allison’s gentle kisses, the way she squeezes him, Jackson eventually mumbles, “Okay.”

The burn chokes Jackson into silence and his face twists into a tooth-baring grimace as Scott continues to push past the ring of muscle in a single breath, his grip threatening to bruise. “Oh my _god_ ,” Scott groans once he’s fully seated, panting into Jackson’s neck. “Oh my god, you’re so—so—” He pulls out slightly and the drag sends Jackson into a full-bodied wince; Scott instantly freezes. “Shit, Jackson, are you—”

“Don’t stop,” Jackson grits even though his face only reads agony. He buries his face into Allison’s shoulder and she kisses his hair. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t stop.”

“But—”

“ _Don’t stop_.”

Because fuck him if he thinks Jackson’s just going to give up because it hurts. No pain, no gain and all that since they’re really using sports clichés here.

Allison rolls her hips, her lips curving into a filthy grin at Jackson’s strangled groan. She shoots Scott a pointed look with sweaty, flushed cheeks. “You heard him, Scott.” Jackson misses whatever moment passes between the two of them, but when they start to rock they’re hips in time with one another, he kind of figures who won. For the first few thrusts, Jackson is caught in this strange place of sharp pain and dull pleasure that leaves him gasping and wheezing and—though he’d never, ever admit it—sobbing against Allison’s slick skin.

Then, Scott clumsily strikes something in him that makes him jerk, yell. A smile spreads across Jackson’s shoulder and hips snap forward to repeat the sensation again just as Allison rolls her hips and clenches, lips sucking tight on a pulse point. Any concern for his wellbeing is lost and there’s only the way Allison’s thighs clamp around him and Scott’s cock splitting him in two. It’s terrifying how well they work together, athletic bodies thrusting and grinding with bunching muscles and heavy breaths that smother Jackson, overwhelm him until he can’t quite make heads or tails of anything. They fuck like true _champions_ with the sheets rasping burns beneath them and the headboard knocking in a frantic rhythm that Jackson can barely keep up with.

It doesn’t even feel like they’re having sex anymore; he feels _used_.

And—fuck—he’s seriously dying right now. No suicide run can even compare to this, to the way his lungs _burn_ under the noises that leave his throat, the strain of his body.

“So, how long do you think you can hold out?” Allison calls with hardly a hitch in her breath.

“Fuck . . . you,” Jackson grinds out.

He can feel Scott’s laugh against his back. “But, we’re already—”

“That’s not fucking funny, you—” The last of the insult is lost in Allison’s mouth and Scott laps messily at his cheek in his want to be a part of it.

They fall out of sync at some point, passing the point of wild sex to animalistic rutting, made complete by Scott’s increasingly feral growls, snarls, in Jackson’s ear. This is when the real game starts, the real challenge, as they race toward that end while trying to delay it as long as possible. Winner is the last one standing and Jackson is hellbent on winning.

In a breath, though, he loses.

Allison slams down him, Scott thrusts up, and Jackson doesn’t expect a damn thing, doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s actually _happening_. Intense pleasure barrels over him out of nowhere and he’s made victim by the sheer, almost painful force of it. He tenses and twitches and shakes and swears something vicious against Allison’s face, and the two of them rub and kiss him through it with croons of, “Oh my god, Jackson,” and, “Yeah, that’s it,” and, “So fucking hot.”

Black spots flicker across his vision as he pants through the last of it, slipping out of Allison, but Scott’s unceasing chuckles, the shame and embarrassment of the entire situation, keep Jackson conscious. And, Jackson clamps down on the shithead’s cock, because seriously? Fuck him. Scott tumbles into orgasm in a series of gasps and grunts, his hips stuttering as he shoots his load—shit—inside the condom that’s inside of Jackson and he has no idea how he feels about that.

At Scott’s defeated mutter of, “ _Fuck_ ,” Allison frantically rubs her clit in tight circles until her eyes scrunch shut and comes with a victorious groan, Jackson wrapping an arm around her and Scott moaning in sympathy as she arches, shudders through it. Scott lurches over Jackson’s shoulder to grace her with a slow, wet kiss that Jackson can’t seem to tear his eyes away from.

Clean-up is quick, Jackson and Scott tying off and tossing the condoms and Allison retrieving the tissue box that had fallen a good bit ago, half-empty from earlier activities. Still a bit sticky, a lot sweaty, and not very good smelling, they organize themselves on the rumbled, damp sheets, Jackson in the middle till, Allison and Scott twining legs and fingers with each other and—to his surprise—Jackson. Allison rests her head on his chest, Scott pulls him into an embrace, and Jackson just sort of lays there, unsure whether he should let himself relax or not.

And, through the thick haze of sleep, it hits him.

“Shit, we’ve been fucking for the whole day. That can’t be fucking possible.”

Scott bursts into his stupid little giggles and Jackson can feel more than hear Allison’s laughter. “Only six hours! And, I told you it was wild with us, man,” Scott says, threading a hand through Jackson’s hair.

Jackson scoffs. “Wild? This is fucking insane. You’re both insane.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” Allison pokes at his chest. “And, besides, I recall _you_ telling us not to stop.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Jackson scrambles for something, some excuse or even an insult, but Scott beats him to it with a chuckle and a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, Jackson. We’ll keep your little secret,” Scott murmurs into his ear before taking the lobe between his teeth. Allison nods in agreement, her finger wandering off to circle a pert nipple. And, Jackson realizes with a sinking feeling where this might be— “So, uh, how’s about another—”

“I’m going to fucking _kill_ you,” Jackson hisses, though he’s pretty sure they’re going to be the death of him first.

Because he doesn’t say no.


End file.
